


Across The Universe

by RidleyTDR (TheWriterEs)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Alternate Universe, Complete, F/M, Gen, Time Travel, fangirling is imminent, no oc-beatle romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-05 17:31:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5384282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWriterEs/pseuds/RidleyTDR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwen Charles had no idea that the necklace would take her back in time to 1964. Neither did she realize that, upon returning to 2015, she had accidentally brought four young musicians back with her. Now, she has to deal with figuring out how to return them to their own time, keep their identities a secret from everyone else, and maybe falling in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. nothing's gonna change my world

This is the story of how I screwed with time. Let me just point out, it was all by accident. At least, in the beginning it was. My name is Gwen Charles, and this all started on August 8th, 2015.

I had just left my job at the pizza place a couple of blocks away from my house. I was walking because I had let my housemate borrow my car for the day, and wasn't expecting her to be back until later with groceries, but this left me with actually using my legs to walk the two blocks East to my apartment. Fun. The wind was blowing my short, dark brown curls into my face, and I felt hair stick to my lip gloss.

The pizza place that I worked at was just off of Main Street, which meant that I at least got to walk past all of the cool, mostly tourist-y, shops on my way home. It was all cool, but nothing I would buy for myself, or at least nothing in the window displays really stuck out to me. That is, until I got to a little pawn shop, it didn't even have an actual name, that had a bunch of really cool looking stuff in the displays. There was an old mannequin thing with a frilly hat perched on the top and a red purse slung over it's shoulder; one of those really old Winnie the Pooh bears, and there, on a bust that looked like it came from the salon three doors down, was the necklace. it was a thin silver chain that would maybe go to the collar bone of the wearer, with an long stretch of singular chain going down the center. At the end of the long chain was what looked like a round locket.

If I had known then what I know now, I wouldn't have taken it. Probably. But of course I was drawn to it like a magpie is to shiny objects.

I walked into the the shop, wrinkling my nose at the sour smell of dust and mothballs. Ergh, what a combination. I notice a guy at the counter, maybe in his late fifties, who was writing stuff in a little black notebook. Probably taking inventory or something. He looked up when he heard the door shut and gave a wide smile. "

Hello, young lady. Is there anything I can help you get?" He asked me. I offered a small smile of my own.

"Um, yeah. That necklace that you have in the window display, how much is it?" I asked tentatively. It was more than likely going to be some outrageous price, and I would have to walk away empty handed.

"The silver one? That would be twenty five dollars, miss. Would you like me to get it for you?"

My heart soared. Only twenty five bucks? Hallelujah! I nodded eagerly, my grin growing.

behind the window. He undid the clasp, and walked back behind the counter to ring me up. I paid in cash, as I liked to save my card for big purchases.

"Would you like this to be put into a box?" He asked me.

"Yes, please." He nodded, and pulled a small, nondescript brown box from below the counter and after wrapping it in tissue paper, placed the necklace inside. I thanked him once more before leaving the store, smiling all the way.

I walked the remaining distance to the apartment complex and once I was inside, I decided to take the elevator, as I was very exhausted from my walk home. I rode the elevator up three floors before getting off and heading down the hall towards my apartment, which would more than likely be empty at this time of day. Kate, my housemate, was running errands all day, which left me complete alone. I set my purse and the box containing my new necklace on the kitchen counter before I headed to my bedroom to change out of my work clothes (black pants, red collared shirt) and into a pair of jeans and a faded black and white plaid shirt over an old Beatles Rubber Soul t-shirt. Ah, comfort.

I lounged a bout for a bit, playing on my phone, before I remembered the necklace I had bought. I went back to the kitchen to grab it. I opened the box and unwrapped the tissue paper, and accidentally dropped the locket on the floor. Bending down to pick it up, I noticed that the fall had caused it to come open. Inside was definitely not what I had expected. It was a pearly white color, and in green it had _1964_ inscribed on it, with something written illegibly beneath it. _Well that's..._

There was a flash of light, the same green color as the writing, and my surroundings changed. I was in what appeared to be a hotel room, a big one at that, but I was definitely not alone.

... _weird_.

Crap.

I looked at who I was in the room with, and nearly stopped breathing when I saw their faces. Oh my gosh, oh my gosh... They looked just like The Beatles.

"Oi! How'd that bird get in here?" One of them, unmistakably John, called, pointing at me.

The others blinked at me in an owlish manner, and I resisted the urge to either scream or giggle insanely.

"Are you an an alien?" Ringo asked, inching close to me and poking my arm.

A small, high pitched squeal escaped me before I could stop it. Wow, I'm an embarrassment to myself. Ringo looked at me curiously, but Paul, who was sitting on one of the beds, waved a hand dismissively.

"Nah, Rings, that's a fairly normal reaction. After all, she is in the presence of the prettiest Beatle." He tucked his hands under his chin and fluttered his lashes as if he were Snow White, and at that point I couldn't take it anymore. I burst out laughing, which made all of them jump in surprise. Ringo looked like he was about to pee his pants, John and George were clinging to each other, and Paul was leaning back, his eyes wide.

"Erm..."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I apologized, a little giddy and breathless, "but, you're really them!"

"Really who?" George asked, confused.

John smacked him lightly on the back of the head.

"Only the biggest band in the world, loon," he chided him, "Really. _Who_?" He said the last word in a mock of George's voice.

George gave him an annoyed look, but said nothing.

"Yes!" I squealed slightly again. "Sorry, it's just, I think I just... Oh, maybe I shouldn't tell you that... But... Nah, who cares, I just time traveled!"

The Fab Four shared similar looks of _'Oh, wow, this is one crazy little girl, let's call the psychiatric ward'_. I whipped my phone out of my pocket, and they eyed it curiously.

"No, look, I can prove it. Here, look at this." I hurriedly clicked on my camera and thrust the thing in George's face. "See, I'm not crazy." George blinked, looking at himself on the screen from all angles before looking back at his bandmates.

"She might be right," he said with a shrug. John lunged forwards and snatched the camera from my hand.

"No way." He muttered to himself. He turned the phone over in his hands. "What proof is this, it's just a really weird-"

"Really gear!"

"-camera. That doesn't make someone from the future." I grabbed it back from him, scowling a bit. Wow. I mean, I had known that John Lennon was a bit obnoxious and all when he was alive, but experiencing it first hand was... well, it was still cool, not gonna lie.

"It's a smart phone. That means it has a camera on it, as well as apps, movies, and music." I explained, rubbing his fingerprints off of my screen with my shirt. "If you want, I can play a song for you." John leaned back with a smirk.

"Alright, play one of ours then. One that hasn't been written."

I rolled my eyes. This was way to easy. George, Ringo, and Paul looked at me expectantly.

"Whatever," I said, clicking on my music icon before selecting a Beatles song at random.

"What would you do if I sang out of tune, would you stand up and walk out on me?" Ringo's distinctive voice came from my phone's speaker.

Ringo's mouth hung open in shock. As soon as the song ended, he turned towards me.

"What was that?" he demanded. I smiled.

"That, my dear Richard, was one of the most popular Beatles songs to date. It was from your nineteen sixty six album, _Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band_ , and it's about drugs." I shrugged. "You guys were experimenting. Personally, I like it, but it's not my favorite."

John's face gained a smug smile.

"And, pray tell, Miss Future, what is your favorite?" I blushed and glanced at George, who blinked at me.

"Ah, um, _Here Comes the Sun_ ," I mumbled, not looking at any of them and chewing on the inside of my bottom lip.

"And which one of us sings that?" Paul pressed, obviously curious.

I stared at an interesting spot on the wall above the bathroom door.

"George." I said nonchalantly, though I was screaming at myself on the inside. I was as red as a strawberry, and three of the four lads were wolf whistling at me. George looked rather pleased with himself.

"Did I write it, too?" He asked me eagerly, a goofy grin on his face. I nodded.

"What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't say. But, uh, it's Gwen Charles." He stood and held out his right hand for me to shake, which I did. My stomach was doing flip-flop's in my stomach, and I was pretty sure I was about to pass out. "Hey, can I sit down?" I said faintly.

George nodded, and I basically collapsed on the bed across from Paul and Ringo, next to the chairs where John and George were sitting. There was about five minutes of silence as the five of us did nothing but stare at each other.

Finally, Paul asked, "What year did you come from, then? That is," he added hastily, "if you are a time traveller." I removed my plaid shirt to show them their faces on my Beatles shirt underneath.

"Well, I'm from two thousand fifteen, and I'm eighteen years old. This, um," I glanced down at my shirt, "this is the cover of your Rubber Soul album from... nineteen sixty five, I think?" I glanced at John. "It is sixty four right now, right?" He nodded. I looked down at my hands, realizing that I still held the locket. I held it up to eye level, and scrutinized it.

"I think," I said slowly, "that this is the thing that sent me here..."


	2. sounds of laughter

John took the locket thing from my hand and examined it. He squinted at the green text declaring the year.

"Gear," he muttered. "Did you know there's a knob here?" He pointed to the top of the locket where, just as he had said, there was a small silver knob that you would normally find on watches. The other three boys crowded around us; John holding the device itself, Ringo playing with a bit of chain, Paul looking over the top of Ringo's shoulder with his hand on his shoulder, and George barely touching his shoulder to mine while I messed with the knob.

"This is probably how you get it to change times," I said, squinting at it, "but it seems like it's stuck." Paul jumped up and clapped his hands together.

"We'll take it to a jewelers later, then. Till that happens, you can stay with the our of us!" My eyes grew wide. It was every fangirls dream.

"Are you serious?" I said, completely floored by his offer. He grinned and waggled his brows.

"Hold on," Ring said, frowning slightly, "what about Eppy? I don't think he'd like having a bird sleeping in the same room as us." John rolled his eyes.

"And since when have we ever listened to what Eppy has to say?" He drawled before turning to me. "D'you have any recent pictures of us? I wanna see how old and saggy Macca and the lads look compared to me." I laughed before sudden realization hit me. I pursed my lips, but pulled out my phone, pulling up Instagram out of habit.

"Oh, right," I said, mostly to myself, "I won't have any service here." However, I was quite surprised (and pleased) when it came up with five bars  _and_  my battery was still at %100. "Okay then." I scrolled until I cam to a picture of Paul's  _Out There_  tour.

John took the phone from my hand and began laughing insanely loud. He showed it to Ringo, who chuckled. Paul frowned at his two friends and grabbed the phone from John. He raised his eyebrows at the picture of his seventy three year old self, but said nothing, George peeked at it over his shoulder before giggling lightly.

"You're an old fart!" John crowed. Paul calmly reached behind me to grab a pillow and smack John in the face with it. "You wound me, Macca!"

"Git." Paul said stone-faced. I snickered before finding the most recent Ringo photo on Instagram. Oh so hard to choose from, there were so many (literally four)! It was of he and his wife cutting the cake for his seventy fifth birthday. Handing it to Ringo, I tried not to laugh at his ridiculous expression.

"That's  _me_?" I nodded. " _I'm old!_ " he wailed. John leaned over and slung his arm around his friend.

"Well, you are the oldest, Ring. I can't  _wait_  to see little Georgie's photographs," he chuckled, waggling his eyebrows at the youngest Beatle. Paul and Ringo laughed, while George rolled his eyes at John's childish behavior. I retrieved my phone from Ringo before going to the internet, searching for George Harrison 2001. John yanked it out of my hands before anyone else could see it.

"Ooh, Georgie, you're looking fine as ever. Love the hair." He handed it to George, who furrowed his brow.

"Hang on a mo, why does it show the wrong date?" I quickly took the phone from him.

"What are you talking about, the date's not wrong, you're imagining things!" I said rapidly. Wrong thing to do. All four boys gave me hard looks."

"Gwen," George said slowly, and I'd be lying if I said that his voice didn't send shivers down my spine, "you said these were all the most recent pictures." I could hear that he was trying not to jump to conclusions and panic. I cleared my throat and didn't look at him.

"They, um, it is the most recent picture. Or, one of them." I said slowly.

"What," Ringo laughed, "did George suddenly develop a fear of cameras?"

"Something like that," I said quietly. George and Paul eyed me suspiciously, but said nothing else.

"Well, you've had a right laugh at us three," Ringo said, looking at John and motioning towards himself, Paul, and George, "and so now it's your turn, Lennon." I bit my lip, not wanting a repeat of the George incident that just happened, but John actually beat me to it.

"No! I refuse to let you see my withered old self!" He cried dramatically, throwing a pillow at Ringo, who ducked, causing it to hit poor George instead. Ringo jumped up and began repeatedly smacking John in the back of the head with one of the pillows that had fallen to the ground. I stood up and walked to the other side of the room, not quite in the mood to get hit by any of the feather filled cushy things.

I felt a hand on the side of my right arm. Turning, I found myself face to face with Paul McCartney. He wore a serious expression, and motioned to the bathroom with a tilt of his head. I hesitated, and he must have seen that I was worried he'd try to, um, well, y'know, so he rolled his eyes and pulled me in. He sat me down on the edge of the tub and shut the door before facing me once more. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, one of his quirks that I had noticed in interviews I'd watched on tv and online, and cleared his throat, acting like he was about to speak but didn't. He scrunched his eyebrows together and opened his mouth once more, but before he could say anything, I interrupted him.

"You want to know why there are no recent pictures of George, don't you?" I said softly, staring at my hands. I could feel my stomach writhing. He nodded slowly, and I sighed. His face was doing that adorable puppy-eyed look, and I just couldn't bring myself to lie to him, someone that I knew so many things about, but didn't truly know at all. "George smokes, you all do," I began, and he nodded again, "but in a little less than forty years, doctors find cancer in him. Smoking literally killed him." And the marajuana and LSD probably didn't help, but I wasn't going into that just yet. Paul closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, one hand gripping the edge of the sink. I felt a lump form in my throat just watching him. Ah dang it, why do I have to be such an honest person? I stared at my feet, blinking hard. Man, I felt awful.

"And John?" My head snapped up and I stared at him. His eyes were lightly tinged with red.

"How did you...?" I began, but shook my head. Paul had been watching me like a hawk, and I was never that good at hiding my emotions. He must have seen my near state of panic when Ringo requested to see pictures of 'old' John. "Nineteen eighty," I whispered, "I think in December." Paul turned away from me and took a shuddery breath.

"Right," he said, looking at me, "I'm going to go work on music." He opened the door, leaving me by myself. I shook my head. I knew that he coped with grief by working extra hard - I had seen the interviews after John's death - so I wasn't going to stop him. Slowly, I stood and brushed imaginary dust off of my pants, taking my sweet time, before heading back into the suite.

Paul was sitting in a corner, furiously playing on his guitar, while John was messing with the small black and white tv and George and Ringo were throwing things at one another. I bit my lip as I glanced at Paul, and then at the two men who would be dead in my timeline.

I really hoped that I hadn't completely screwed up history by telling him those things.

Well, shit.


	3. they tumble blindly

I rubbed the bridge of my nose absently , lost in thought. My eyes were focused on the television screen, showing people that I did not know, but my brain was focused on how I was going to get home. I mean, it was  _very_  cool to be here, with one of the greatest bands in history, but I didn't know what was going on at home. Was Kate back? Was she looking for me?

And the biggest question of all: why was my  _phone_  of all things, still working properly?

Okay, okay, not the  _biggest_  questions, but still a pretty good one, no?

I flopped back into the bed, knocking my head on Ringo's knee in the process.

"Ouch!" We helped at the same time. I cradled my head in my hands and he rubbed his knee. "Y'don't have to attack me," he said reproachfully. I gave an apologetic smile once my head stopped throbbing.

"Sorry. Wasn't really paying attention." He awkwardly patted my head.

"S'alright." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Our movie came out, what, last month? Have you seen it, or did it not turn out well?" A grin spread across my face.

"It is confusing and wonderful, and it features the Beatles. Of course it did well." He smiled. "Do you want to see a funny video?" I asked him.

"Uh, yeah?"

"Actually, the other guys might wanna see it too, it's pretty funny." He shrugged.

"Oi, mates," he called, "get your selves over here."

"Don't tell me what to do, Starr!"

"Oh, shut up, Lennon. It's future stuff." John raised a brow and came over to investigate. With the four boys crowded around me, I pulled up youtube (seriously,  _how was this still working?_ ) and found the particular video I wanted.

It was a silly little Jimmy Fallon sketch from a few years ago, featuring Paul. Somehow, the two men had 'switched' accents. Jimmy teased Paul for a bit before the Liverpudlian took matters into his own hands and head-butted the American in the face. Ah, lovely.

Paul stared in rapture of his older self. He still looked a bit shaken up, not that I could blame him, but cracked a smile at the video.

"Macca, who knew you were so violent and good with voices?" John said in awe before turning to me. "What's a twerk?" He only grew more confused at my bright red face and hysterical laughter. I shook my head, signaling that I wasn't going to answer that particular question.

"And what's a 'Honey Boo-Boo'?" Ringo chimed in. I tossed him my phone.

"Type it in on that bar at the top, prepare to be horrified," I told him, shoving my face into a stray pillow to stifle my laughter. I came up for air and ended up laughing even harder at the expression on his face.

After we (read: me) were calmed down, I took the necklace out of my pocked and messed around with it for a while. I felt the little nob at the top click, and, upon opening the locket part, found the date and time blinking, like when you change the time on a digital clock.

"Guys!" I called, and the four boys came to see what was going on. Ringo eyed me warily. I guess he thought I was going to show him more pictures he could never un-see.

"What?" he asked suspiciously, slowly creeping towards me. John rolled his eyes at his friend, yanking him over by the arm. I held up the time device.

"I think I've got it working," I answered, "Let me just switch it to the right date and place..." I did so, and clicked the knob into place. The green light surrounded me once again, and I heard George let out a yelp, and felt four pairs of hands grab at my arms. "No, no, let-"

The light flashed brightly, and I closed my eyes tight so as not to be blinded. When I blinked them open, I was once more standing in my kitchen. The time on the microwave was the exact same as when I had left (Which, for me at least, had been nearly four hours), and everything looked the exact same. The only difference was that I had dragged four people with me from 1964.

Well, crap.

I stared at them in shock.

"Oh. Oh, no, no, nonononono," I said. "You guys can't be in the, um, now! We need to send you back!" John released my arm.

"How about, no. I want to see the future." He gave me a toothy grin. George and Ringo smiled and nodded with him. Paul and I exchanged worried looks. I opened my mouth to say that they can't know too much about their future, less they change the past, but then something occurred to me.

"Paul, what would you say if I told you we could change what happens to them?" I murmured to him while the other three were distracted. He scrunched his eyebrows together.

"Can you even do that?" He asked, his voice hopeful. I bit my lip and glanced at the other three who were talking excitedly amongst each-other. I turned back to Paul.

"I, I think so. But I don't know exactly how it would effect things." I replied. "Do you know anything about the multiverse theory?" He frowned.

"Ah, I suspect it has something to do with multiple universes?" I nodded in confirmation.

"So it might create a parallel universe. Which is weird, but I just time travelled - twice - so nothing is really that weird anymore. Except for Harry Styles third nipple, that thing creeps me out." Paul stared at me in confusion, mouthing 'third nipple', but shook his head, getting back on topic.

"Alright, well, anything is better than my mates not being here, so let's do it." He said, then paused. "But, gently, please." I nodded.

"Gear, Mr. McCartney. Shall we?" I said in a terrible, horrible, Liverpudlian accent. He cringed.

"Never do that again, Miss Charles."

"Sorry."

We walked over to the three lads, who had broken out in song for some reason (it was actually adorable, Ringo was pretending to play the drums on his buddies heads), and I cleared my throat. They stopped their silly antics and looked at me expectantly. I closed my eyes briefly. How was I going to break it to them? The only people that could really explain John and George's deaths were Paul and Ringo (and neither of them really knew what happened at this point). But, maybe... there were clips of the two men's interviews about the tragedies all over the internet. I held up a finger, and hurried into my room, grabbing my laptop off of my bed.

"I think," I said as I reentered the kitchen, "that I need to show you something important. I don't want you to find out by accident, and maybe if you knew about it now, we could change it so that nothing... Well, just, watch it, please," I hurried out, not making eye contact with any of them. Setting my laptop on the kitchen counter, I pulled up the CNN interview of Paul and Ringo talking about their friends. I made sure no one saw the title of the video.

 _"Where were you when John...passed?"_  an interviewer asked them.

John's breath caught in his throat, and George and Ringo's eyes widened. Paul looked away, but then looked back, unable to contained his curiosity.

 _"When John passed? I was in Sussex, my home in Sussex. Um, that's where I was."_ The on-screen Paul said.

 _"Somebody call you?"_  A nod from Paul.

_"Yeah. My manager at the time called me, and, um, and it was just the shock of all shocks, y'know."_

_"I see. George, where were you-"_

Paul interrupted him _"George?"_  Amusement was evident in his voice.  _"No, this is Ringo here."_  Ringo smiled a bit.

 _"Ringo, where were you?"_  The interviewer continued, acting as if the mistake never happened.

 _"I was in the Bahamas."_  Ringo said, somewhat laid back.

 _"I was getting to..." "I was..."_  Ringo and the interviewer started speaking at the same time.

 _"No, you weren't, Larry."_  Paul cut in again.  _"You said his name wrong."_

 _"Shut up, it's my turn."_  Ringo said, acting annoyed, but anyone could see that he was having a bit of fun with his friend.

 _"I know, but he got your name wrong, Ringo, on national television."_ Paul continued on.

_"I know. Give him a break-"_

_"We can't cut it. It's live-"_

_"_ Anyway," Ringo said loudly, not letting Paul continue with his rant.  _" I was in the Bahamas and the kids called and they said we've heard something, like John has been hurt. I'm like what? And then we got a call that John had actually been seriously hurt. And we just got a plane to New York, said hello to Yoko. You know, you don't know what to do. I mean it was so weird. And then it was so crazy there. And I didn't think we were helping the situation, because there was another fab (ph) in town. Then we went back to L.A. But I was in the Bahamas."_

I paused it to give them time to process this.

"I'm... dead?" John said, his voice barely above a whisper. He turned to face me, his face pale. "And you knew it all along?" Anger was creeping into his tone. I held up my hands.

"I didn't want to risk screwing up the time line, but I'm telling you now so that we can change this. And," I spared a glance at George, "there's still more of the video left..." Paul placed his hand on John's shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"C'mon, Lennon, let's just watch the rest." He said softly. John gave him a hard look, but it soon melted away. He looked scared. He nodded, and I pressed play.

 _"Was George's passing expected?"_ The interviewer asked them.

 _"Yeah."_  Paul and Ringo answered at the same time.

The interviewer continued,  _"Because you knew how sick he was?"_

 _"Yeah,"_  Ringo said softly.

Paul cleared his throat  _"Yeah. We, we all knew and he knew. But it was great. You know, in all these - well, in, actually, in John's case - I was going to say in all these tragedies. In George's case, in that tragedy, there were some good things about it. In John's case there weren't. But with George, I got to see him..."_

_"Oh, you did?"_

Paul continued on,  _" ... A short time before he died. And it was just the best because we just - we sat like this,"_  he took Ringo's hand in his own and stroked it lightly with his thumb (Ringo didn't seem at all fazed),  _"if you don't mind. We sat and just stroking hands like this. And this is a guy, you know, I'd known since he was a little kid. And you don't stroke hands with guys like that. You know, it was just beautiful. And we just..."_

Ringo said softly,  _"Not unless you're secure."_

 _"We just spent a couple of hours and it was really lovely. It was like a favorite memory of mine."_  The clip ended.

George looked absolutely horrified, as did Ringo and John. Paul, of course, had been told most of this earlier. He stared fixedly at a spot above my head. I sighed.

"Georgie?" Ringo said finally, softly, looking at the man who was one of his closest friends. George turned to him, face pale. I noticed that he was gripping tightly to John's arm.

"He gets really sick," I said as a way of explaining, "it's because of smoking, mostly. Lung cancer kills you in 2001." George reached into his trouser pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarette's and staring at them in shock, before tossing them on the counter. He looked scared, almost.

"And John?" He asked. I chewed on the inside of my cheek before answering.

"Um, assassination. Right after his fortieth birthday." I informed them. I watched them, before deciding to give them space. "You can use my computer to look at stuff, if you want, I'm going to go do... laundry or something."

I left without another word.


	4. it calls me on and on

I did not, in fact, do laundry.

Instead, I had a mini panic attack in my bedroom. Oh sweet lord, I hoped everything would be alright, and that nothing we (okay, okay, I) had done would have dire consiquences. And if they did, what would they even be? I mean, I would be more than okay if John didn't marry Yoko, but that was just me...

I shook my head. Why did I even think that I could change the past? But... if I did change it - and lets hypothetically say that it was for the better - who's to say things still wouldn't be all screwed up? Gah, time travel was confusing and made my brain hurt. And now they probably all hated me and wanted me dead and-

Okay, deep breaths, I'm alright. I did mention I was having a panic attack, did I not?

After I was done being a complete and utter idiot, I snatched my phone off of my bed and spilt made my way to the kitchen. From my vantage point, I could see John, who was slumped against Ringo's side, watching Paul type something into my browser bar, one letter at a time. I couldn't see what he was typing, but he chuckled, saying "I was right, lads, I am the pretty one!" This caused his friends to give him half hearted smiles. I could tell this was his attempt at trying to cheer them up.

"You are the pretty one, Paul," I said as I stepped into the room, "You have a nice ass." He jumped in surprise of my sudden appearance, but smiled smugly.

"See? She agrees with me." It fell silent, and I wrung my hands nervously, staring at my feet. Finally, I spoke.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away, or maybe that I even told you at all. I thought that you deserved the right to know what was going to happen, and maybe we can change things for the better." I finally looked up, and found John staring at me intently. "You're not mad at me, are you?" He gave me a squinty-glare, then sighed.

"No, not really. But I do have a request." He said to me.

"Alright..."

"I want to talk to wrinkly Paul and Ringo," he declared with a cheeky grin. I rolled my eyes.

"And how am I supposed to do that?" I asked him, crossing my arms and staring at him sternly. Ringo shrugged (actually, I think he was just trying to get John off of him; he looked pretty heavy).

"Well, you're the time traveler, shouldn't you know how to get this done?" I was about to retort, but stopped, thoughtful.

Maybe I could change, not the time, but just the location that the necklace would send me. I fingered it where it lay strung around my throat. If I could get it to send me to one of their concerts, or hotel room, or homes, we could have a little Beatles reunion... I smiled, and Ringo edged away from me. I got the feeling that he didn't quite like all of my ideas. Well, that's okay. I didn't like all of my ideas. But this one would work.

I think.

I knew either Paul or Ringo had a concert somewhere in the world today, so I snatched my computer from Paul - who pouted, but I ignored his childish behavior - and typed up concert dates and places.

"There's one," I began, my eyes scanning the page displayed on the screen, "on the tenth - that's two days from now - in Huston, Texas. Hmm, I've never been to Texas."

"Gear," Ringo said, "let's go now!" I shook my head.

"Uh, no. I'm exhausted, and need to eat. We can wait the two days." He turned his big blue eyes on me with a puppy dog look (they were all so good at that!). "No." I said more firmly, and he groaned, rolling his eyes.

"Who're we seeing first, then?" George asked. I noticed that he'd moved towards my fridge and was now rummaging through it. I rolled my eyes, but didn't discourage him from finding a snack. I'm sure he needed comfort food after the earlier news.

"Sir Paul," I said, once again trying an accent, though this one sounded more Scottish than Liverpudlian (I was pleased is managed something).

"Sir Paul?" John said, incredulous, "Since when was he Sir Paul?" I shrugged.

"I dunno. Wanna look it up," I offered, motioning to the laptop, which he grabbed and (after making me type everything in for him because he was hopeless) scoffed at his bandmate's Wikipedia page.

"Sir Paul," he muttered under his breath. Paul rolled his eyes and looked at his friend with affection.

"Don't be a git, Lennon."

"Shuddap, Macca, I'm always a git."

"No truer words were ever spoken," George said solemnly, taking a bite out of a banana.

"So what do we do in the meanwhile?" Ringo asked, taking the yellow fruit from George. A thought struck me.

"Movie night?" I suggested. "I know a certain trilogy that everyone should watch."

"Are we in it?" John asked, tearing his eyes from the screen of my laptop.

I shook my head. "Uh, no,"

"Then I don't want to watch it."

"There's a pretty girl in a metal bikini." I said, deadpan, knowing that would poke his interest. It did.

"Lead the way, Miss Future!" He shouted, raising a fist. His three friends rolled their eyes at his antics while I laughed.

"Alright!"

We were about ten minutes away from the end of the first Star Wars movie when Kate (finally) walked in. She stopped short, her face confused as she took in the sight of me and four guys in matching suits and haircuts on the sofa (Ringo was actually on the floor in front of George, who was playing with his hair).

"Um," my blonde roommate said, looking at me with a wtf face. I shrugged.

"What can I say, I'm a boy magnet," I told her cheekily, placing my arms on the shoulders of Paul and John.

She blinked, then sighed, walking towards her room and not soaring us a second glance. "Don't get popcorn between the couch cushions," she called back.

As soon as she was gone, John shoved a handful of the snack between the back of the sofa and a cushion, giving me a smirk. "I do what I want," he said with a wink.


	5. shades of life

"Ringo, what're you doing with my phone?" I asked, yawning. I had fallen asleep as the credits to Return of the Jedi rolled, and was leaning against John, who was snoring softly, a bit of drool shining at the corner of his mouth. Paul was passed out on top of George, who's face was covered by a pillow.

"Playing solitaire," Ringo replied, his eyes never leaving my phone. I frowned.

"I have solitaire on my phone?"

"You do now."

I was going to ask him how the heck he figured out how to download stuff on my phone when Kate walked into the living room. I wondered what she was still doing up.

"I need to talk to you," she said, giving me a pointed look. I rolled my eyes exaggeratedly but complied and stood from the couch, stretching.

"What do you need?" I asked her, scratching my right earlobe, a weird habit of mine. She spared the sleeping Beatles and Ringo a look before facing me again.

"Look," she began, "I have no idea who those guys are, nor do I care," oh yeah, I'd forgotten she had no taste in music, "but they can't stay here."

"Why not?" I asked her. The boys had been in their best behavior so far. Well, excluding John. I wasn't sure that he even had a best behavior. She frowned.

"They are  _four guys_ , Gwen, and I don't care how sharply they're dressed, they're still guys, and I don't feel comfortable with that." It was my turn to frown now.

"They're," I racked my brain quickly, coming up with the best solution to all this, "they're family friends of mine. Also, they're gay. All of them." I cringed internally. What was I thinking? She raised an eyebrow, not quite buying it.

"Gay," she repeated. "All four of them." I nodded slowly, hoping she wouldn't see right through me. Finally she sighed. "Alright, fine, but tell those two," she motioned with her hand at Paul and George, who were still smushed together in the sofa, "that we have a rule against PDA in the living room." Awkwardly, I said the first thing that popped into my mind.  _Oh sweet lord_ , I shouldn't have said anything at all.

"None of them are together," I rattled off quickly, "because they're also all brothers."  _Why was I still talking_? This was such a horrible,  _horrible_ , messed up idea. Kate looked somewhat taken aback.

"Oh, okay then." She looked thoughtful. "So I didn't catch any of their names." Okay, I know I said she didn't really know the Beatles, but everyone knows at least John and Paul. I would have to think up different names for all of them, just to be safe...

"That's Billy on the floor, Dave is the one with the drool, and that's James on top of," crap I couldn't think of a name for George, "Bob." Bob?! I am so bad at this. "The Shears brothers." Okay, okay, that last name, though. Billy Shears. Ha. I laughed a little in my head. Only a Beatlemaniac would get that joke, to be sure. She blinked at me.

"That's great... I'm going to go to bed now. If they murder me in my sleep, I'm haunting you." She walked into her room and shut the door, and I breathed out a sigh of relief.

I turned to the three sleeping boys (and Ringo, who I swear was messing with my phone just to bug me) and walked over to them. I shoved Paul off George, and poked John in the face, successfully waking them up.

"Oi," John mumbled, eyes still closed, "don't interrupt a fellow while he's taking a kip." I poked him harder, and he sat up, rubbing his eyes and giving a little yawn.

"You've got drool on your face," George told him sleepily, hugging the pillow that had previously been smothering him. John lazily wiped it away with the back of his hand. I made a face at that.

"Guys, I need to inform you on something," I said in my best business voice. Paul blinked at me.

"Is it that you've got more of these movies for us to watch?" he asked me. "Because I'm too tired to watch anymore." I shook my head.

"No. First, no flirting with my roommate. I told her you're all gay." Ringo looked up from my phone at me as Paul and George made weird strangled noises and John just giggled.

"Why would you do that?!" Paul demanded, eyes wide. I almost laughed at his expression.

"Does this mean John and I have to kiss?" Ringo asked, his face serious but his blue eyes twinkled with unshed laughter. John reached over and smacked the back of the drummer's head.

"Don't be a slut, Ringo, I belong to Paul, if anyone." John said with amusement. Paul shot him a dark look, and he shrugged.

"And you're also brothers." I told them each of their appointed names - "Sorry, John, your real name is to recognizable." - and had to stop myself from laughing when I got to Ringo. "Sorry, it's just," I gasped out, nearly choking myself trying not to laugh, "Billy Shears is from  _Sergeant Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band_ , and I just think it's funny." He gave me a look.

"You're an absolute loon, you are. A big, fat one." I rolled my eyes. Paul was making a face at what seemed like nothing.

"James," he said distastefully, "I don't like the name James." He pouted a bit, and George patted his arm consolingly.

"It's only for while we stay here, just so Kate doesn't know who you actually are." I explained, amused at the childish behavior. "We don't want scientists experimenting or whatever if someone figures out who you guys are." John stretched, both arms raised over his head.

"What are we going to waste our time with tomorrow, then?" He asked, squinting at me slightly. I pointed at him.

"Do you want glasses?" He looked at me, completely puzzled.

"What?"

"Glasses. I know you need them. Plus, you made granny glasses famous later on." I grinned at him cheekily. It was fun being the one to tease instead of being teased. He shook his head.

"'m'fine," he responded, "it's not that bad." Paul gave him an unamused look.

"Lennon, you're as blind as a bat. Take the offer and see the world in all its glory." He spread his arms out, accidentally smacking George in the face. "Sorry, George." John shook his head again stubbornly, and I gave up. No use in arguing with a stubborn musician.

"Well, I'm going to call in sick at work- oh, wait it's the weekend, I have those off - we can watch more movies, again, or go out. I dunno. For now, let's just settle the sleeping arrangements." They all nodded or shrugged in acknowledgment. "Okay, John, Paul, you take the sofa. No being loud, please. Ringo, I have a love seat in my room, it's pretty big and comfy. You and George can share that."

"Are you sure you don't want to share a bed with me, Miss Future?" John asked, waggling his brows in a suggestive manner. I sighed dramatically.

"Oh, Mr. Lennon, I would love to do that," I said to him, my voice dripping with sarcasm, "if I was into sleeping with married men. Which I'm  _not_." I expected him to look, while not really ashamed or embarrassed with himself, at least a little bashful. He did not. Instead, he thrust his suggestive face towards Paul.

"Looks like it'll be just you and me, Macca." He made a kiss-y face at him, and Paul calmly pushing him away.

I led the other two to bedroom and got them situated on the love seat. I grabbed a pair of pj's - a plain white t-shirt and long pajama pants with little cartoon submarines on them - and headed towards the bathroom to change.

I couldn't believe it's only been  _one_ day.


	6. waves of joy

We had spent the entire day out on the town. The guys had been impressed with my car - "They just keep making them better, eh, Macca?" - and John had taken the front seat before I could even get my seat belt buckled. He turned to me expectantly, and I frowned at him, raising an eyebrow as George, Paul, and Ringo settled into the backseat.

"What?" I asked him. He gave me a look.

" _Music_ , Miss Futre, play the radio!" He said, as if it was obvious. "I want to see how far it's come." I resisted a snort. Music  _was not_  better now than it was then. Sure, there were the good bands, but there was also Justin Bieber and a throng of other people that didn't deserve the title of 'artist' or 'musician'. I shrugged, though, and turned the radio to one of my favorite stations that played very few terrible songs.

Unfortunately, the first song that came on was terrible. Ugh,  _Anaconda._ I scrunched up my face in distaste as the others listened. I couldn't see their expressions - I was keeping my eyes on the road like a good driver should - so I didn't know what they thought of it until Ringo blurted out, "My bleed'n ears, make it stop!" I laughed a little, but turned off the radio.

"You future people like singing about butts," John remarked. I nodded.

"Yup."

" _Why_?" Ringo groaned, hands over his face. George reached across Paul and patted the drummer's elbow. I shrugged.

"Who knows? I'll plug in my phone, hold on a sec." I pulled over to the side of the road and dug my phone out of my purse. I plugged it into the auxiliary cord and pulled up my Pandora. "There, wonderful songs, all at random." I said. A Wings song came on first -  _Jet_  - and I smiled, mouthing along to the words.

"Oh, is this one of our later songs?" Paul asked, recognizing his own voice belting out the lyrics.

"Nope," I said, popping the 'p'. "Wings."

"Who?" George asked.

"Wings. Paul's band after the Beatles. In the seventies." I shrugged. "You all go on to do other stuff." We all sat in silence for a few moments, just listening to the song. Within a couple of minutes, it was replaced by  _Twist and Shout_ , and I caught myself humming along to the oh-so-familiar melody. I glanced back in the rearview mirror to see Ringo tapping out a beat on his leg while Paul bobbed his head to the music. I smiled to myself. This was probably the coolest thing that had ever happened to me, not gonna lie. Well, I did get to see a Paul McCartney concert last summer with my parents and younger brother, so that was awesome too, but these were the Beatles at the  _height_  of Beatlemania, so... no contest, really.

I parked my car in front a cute little diner that I had discovered when I moved out here earlier this year. They made the best crepes that I had ever tasted, and the service wasn't to bad, either, as long as it wasn't crowded by tourists. We were actually among the first customers that morning, so I was able to nab as a table in one of the corners. I ordered some savory crepes - spinach with chicken and cheese - and let the guys order what they wanted. The prices here were really good, so I wasn't too worried about going over budget.

John ordered a chocolate waffle covered in what looked like unicorn barf, and I gagged a little bit just at the sight of it. I mean, I like sweets and all, but that was enough to put Buddy the Elf in a sugar coma. Ringo copied my order, George got pancakes, and Paul got scrambled eggs and a waffle.

"Cheers," I said, holding up my water glass. They did the same, and I ate my breakfast.

After that, I took them to some of my favorite shops where we literally had to drag John away from some merchandise - "I wanna be a future man!" - and around lunch I just took them to a McDonalds (hey, I'm not made of money).

"Okay, time to head home," I announced, arms folded over my chest as I watched Ringo, John, and Paul play around in the play area. George sat next to me, happily sucking down a milkshake. Paul's face peeked out from behind the structure.

"Why?" I rolled my eyes.

"Fine, I guess you don't want to get a good night's sleep before the concert." John's face appeared next to Paul's, a twinkle in his brown eyes.

"Nooo, Miss Future, we want to be running on nothing but caffeine and adrenaline tomorrow," he told me with a smirk. Honestly, I think he was actually serious.

"Wow, John, I didn't know you knew such big words," I said, a smile of my own growing on my face. George choked on his drink as he laughed, and Ringo and Paul chuckled and came over to where I was as I walked out of the play area, leaving a (for once) speechless John Lennon in our wake.

" _That_  was fab," Ringo announced as John let out an indignant squawk and hurried after us. I smiled and shrugged.


	7. across the universe

"Wakey, wakey,"  _poke_ , "eggs and bakey."  _Poke._  John's voice crowned into my ear. I made an unintelligible groaning noise and rolled over in bed, shoving my head under my Spider-Man clad pillow.  _Poke, poke._  I sat up with a snarl, looking at John with a grumpy expression.

"What are you doing in my room, John?" I growled. He looked at me, mildly surprised.

"Well," he began, taking a small step backwards (did I mention I'm not a morning person?), "I'm waking you up. Wrinkly Macca's show starts in two hours." He eyed my messy dark curls. "And you need all the time you can get to take care of  _that_." I glared, self-continually smoothing my hair.

"I  _hate_  you," I declared. I didn't really hate him, in fact, he reminded me a lot of my older brother, Luke. Both were annoying and immature, but serious when they needed to be.

John gave me a grin and walked over to my closet. I rolled my eyes, and looked to see if Ringo and George were up yet. They weren't. They lay back to back, Ringo clutching the younger's arm. I snapped a quick picture with my phone.  _Perfect_  blackmail material.

Something red covered my vision suddenly. Plucking it off of my head, I realized that it was a skimpy red dress I had got for a white elephant gift two or so years previously. I shot John, who was giving me the most innocent look he could muster, a scathing look.

" _No_ , John." I said firmly. He rolled his eye, but drifted over to the two sleeping Beatles on the love seat, deciding to bug them instead.

I decided against wearing the  _Out There_  t-shirt I had got at the concert last summer, figuring that present-Paul would be weirded out enough without me going all creepy fangirl on him. I smiled to myself. That would be pretty funny, though. Instead, I dug out a plain blue-green shirt that hugged what little curves I had, and paired it with some dark skinny jeans and my used-to-be white converse (I had doodled and written lyrics on them). I took the clothes and headed to my bathroom, catching a peek of Paul making eggs or something in the kitchen.

After I was dressed, I walked back into my room, wordlessly watching as George and Ringo gave John his comeuppance - pillows to the face.

"You guys wanna do something before we head to the concert?" I asked the three of them, yawning. Ringo looked thoughtful as he smacked John over the head.

"Well," he began, "you could show us more future stuff." He was sitting on John's head now as George pinned his arms to his side. John's legs kicked and struggled helplessly, and I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. I shrugged.

"I could show you the trippiest movie I own," I offered. George looked at me, thick eyebrow raised in a questioning manner. I grinned. "Let me show you the wonders of  _Yellow Submarine,_ my friends."

"I do  _not_  sound like that." Paul stood behind the four of us on the couch, glaring at the television screen.

"That's because those are  _actors_ , Paul. The songs are yours though." His glare didn't waver. I checked my wrist watch. "But it doesn't matter, 'cause we have to go if you wanna meet up with Old Man McCartney." They gathered around me, and I clicked open the locket. Below the displayed time and date, in barely visible words, was a location. I smiled to myself as I used the knob to enter the concert's location. I braced myself as the light flawed green, and the five of us appeared backstage, just as  _Live or Let Die_ 's opening chords began.

Ringo bobbed his head and tapped his hands to the beat as we waited, and I could tell all four of them were somewhat nervous. George actually looked like he was about to pass out. I placed my hand on his to try and lend some comfort. He looked my way, giving me a small smile, and I smiled back.

Finally,after what felt like forever, I heard (old) Paul's voice call out, "Thank you, thank you, goodnight!" and a torrent of screams and cheers followed. I felt my stomach doing flips and turns, and nervously waited for older Paul to appear back here. Ergh, my hands were sweaty... And I still had my left hand covering George's. Mortified, I quickly wiped them on my jeans.

Sir Paul returned backstage, but he didn't notice us at first. Of course, John, being John, called out to him, "Oi, Macca, you wrinkly old git. I wanna have a word." The older Paul went rigid, and I resisted the urge to face palm.  _Dang it, John._

Slowly, the older man turned around and, catching sight of us, his breath caught in his throat. His eyes never left John's form.

" _John,_ " he choked out, " _how?"_ John shrugged, gesturing to me standing theft to George.

"Miss Future, here." In a poor stage whisper, he added, " _She's a time traveler_." I hesitated, but waved with a nervous smile. Paul's eyes went wide upon seeing George and younger versions of himself and Ringo. He let out a strange sob, and stepped forward, nearly crushing George and John as he hugged them. John wriggled a bit, but eventually relaxed in his friends embrace.

"I can't breath," George said after a long while, his voice muffled. The two were released.

"This is really weird," Paul, young Paul, admitted. I nodded in agreement, before tapping the elder's arm.

"Um, excuse me, Sir McCartney," I began, "would you be able to arrange a meeting with this time's Ringo?" I motioned towards the band, "They won't let me take them back 'till they see you and Ringo." Sir Paul looked at each, brow furrowed.

"Really? That doesn't sound much like-"

"John made the ultimatum."

"Ah." A pause, then, "John, you big idiot." His voice was warm with affection, and John grinned broadly at him.

"Ah, Macca, you love me." I stared at the older man.

"So? Can you take us to Ringo?" I didn't want to sound impatient, but I'm sure I probably did. Paul scratched the side of his nose.

"Well, I dunno where he is right now," he said slowly, "but I think He might be in his house in Colorado... I'll phone him up, see when we can go over..."

"No need," I said cheerfully, holding up my necklace to eye-level, "this is how I got us here from my house in Arizona." I smiled at him. " _Tuscan,_ Arizona. Not really, I'm actually just outside of Phoenix, but that joke was way too good to pass up." Old Paul chuckled.

"Alright, Jojo."  _SQUEE!_  Paul McCartney was joking around with me! I mean, he had been for the past couple of days, but this was  _my_  time's Paul. I think I can die happy now. I held out my necklace to him.

"Just enter in the address, and the necklace will send us there." I told him. He nodded, thought for a moment, and then twisted the knob, causing the address to spell itself out on the inside of the locket compartment. The four out-of-time Liverpudlians quickly grabbed onto us so that they wouldn't get left behind.

Within seconds, there was a flash of familiar green light, and we appeared in a well furnished bedroom. I could here the shower running, and a male voice wafting through the air, words indistinct, but melody pleasant. After a moment, the shower was turned off, and 2015 Ringo walked into the bedroom. That was good.

What wasn't good was that he was buck naked.

I think I'm going to need therapy.

 


	8. a million eyes

I heard a shrill scream coming from my left, turning my head - and looking away from the terrifying sight of a naked Ringo - and saw John slapping his hands over his eyes.

"Someone get me some holy water, my eyes will never be the same!" He cried out. The older Ringo stared at him, confused.

"John?" He turned his head. "And George? What-" the older Paul put his hand up to stop him.

"Ringo, before you continue,  _please_  put some clothes on!" Ringo glanced down.

"Oh," he said, mildly surprised, then looked up, "am I making you all uncomfortable?"

" _Yes_ ," John whined, now curled up in a fetal position on the floor. I resisted the urge to laugh. The younger Paul and Ringo had jumped behind me and - as John had dubbed him - 'Old-Wrinkly Macca', and George had gagged a bit and slapped his hands over his eyes. The present-day Ringo shrugged, strolled into a walk-in closet, and returned wearing some plaid pajama pants and a plain black t-shirt.

"So," he drawled, "have I somehow taken a wonderful, drug induced trip - which I'm not entirely opposed to right now - or am I dead? Because I see John and George, and somehow, I don't think that's normal." I raised an eyebrow. He was taking this miraculously well.

The younger Paul's voice came from behind me, "Is he wearing pants?" He sounded wary. I didn't blame him, to be honest. I rolled my eyes.

"Yes, he's wearing pants. You two may come out now," Old Macca (much easier to say and think) replied, and Paul and young Ringo stepped out from behind us. The older Ringo's eyebrows shot up.

"Right," he said, "Now I  _know_  I'm high." John picked himself up off the floor and brushed imaginary dust from his suit, trying to look dignified.

"No, no, Ringo, If you were tripin', there'd be more walrus's and octopuses, ehehe." He elbowed Starr in the ribs, waggling his dark brows and grinning broadly. Starr pinched John's elbow, and John let out a yelp. "What'd you do that for, old git?" he grumbled, sulking away from his old friend.

"Well, it's not a dream, you feel real enough." Starr said thoughtfully.

"Aren't you supposed to pinch yourself?" Paul asked, shooting John an amused look. John made a face at him. Starr shrugged.

"Yeah, but it would hurt."

"Yes, it bloody did!" John whimpered.

"You're a big baby, you know that?" I asked him tiredly. He gave me a hurt look.

"And you're as mean as the bloody devil, anybody ever tell you that?" I shrugged. That was actually a new one.

"Can someone tell me what's going on?" Starr asked us as the other Ringo edged towards him, muttering " _Weird. Weird old me,"_ under his breath. I raised my hand, and Starr pointed to me. "Yeah, you, the only girl here. Which is weird, because if this is a dream - a vivid one - I'd be seeing a lot more girls." I looked at him weirdly.

"Um," I began, not entirely sure what to say, "first off, you need to stop with the emojis's. Seriously, stop. Second, I'm a time traveler. Surprise." I smiled grimly. I took in his interested expression, and pointed to John. "Second, that idiot over there refused to let me send them back until he met you and Paul. Well, and the future in general. And yes, he and George know about..." I trailed off, grimacing. It was... weird to talk about them being dead, since I could see them standing right in front of my eyes.

I spent the next half hour explaining everything that had happened since I had bought the troublesome necklace. I told them - Old Macca hadn't heard any of this yet, really - I frowned when I hesitantly explained my breaking the news of the deaths of George and John. By the end of my tail, Paul was nodding seriously, and Ringo was frowning in thought.

"Oh, um, I'm Gwen Charles, by the way," I said, remembering I had yet to give my name. John reached over and patted me on the head, giving me a smile.

"Nah, It's Miss Future." He fluttered his lashes innocently. Old Macca rolled his eyes.

"John, you don't know anything, do you? It's Jojo, John, Jojo." I frowned.

"Um, is every one gonna give me nicknames?" I glanced at Ringo and George, who both shrugged.

"I just think of you as the Loon," Ringo told me honestly.

"You're just Gwen to me," George said sweetly, before grinning and adding, "Or the crazy time girl. Whatever works." I glared at him. Traitor.

"Question," Starr announced, raising his hand. I nodded towards him, and he continued, "What now?"

I paused in thought for a moment.  _What now?_  It was a simple enough question, I supposed. But really, what was I supposed to do, send them back and go back to my life as a pizza girl? Um, how about no? I bit my lip, before a brilliant idea hit me. I looked Starr in the eyes.

"I'm going to find the guy that sold me the locket and see what he knows." I looked at the four men, stuck in the wrong time. "You should come with me. Present day Paul and Ringo, you... stay here. Actually, Paul, I'm going to take you back to your concert, unless you wanna hang out here."

Old Macca waved me off. "Ringo and I have some reminiscing to do, now that I'm here. Thanks for the offer, though, luv." I nodded, barely contain the fangirl scream that threatened to erupt from me when he called me 'luv'. He hesitated briefly, before enveloping George in a tight hug and moving onto John. "Just in case nothing changes, in case I don't see you again," he said quietly. Starr flicked John on the ear before embracing him and the band's youngest member.

I was about to open up my locked to change the destination before I let out a gasp.

"What's wrong?" George asked me, wide eyed. I shook my head and ran up to the older Paul and Ringo.

"Selfie?" I asked hesitantly, my voice hopefully. The two music legends looked at each other for a moment before bursting out in laughter and nodding. I felt my pockets for my phone, panicked when I didn't feel it, and then turned to Ringo. "Dang it, Ringo, stop taking my phone to play solitaire." I said, exasperated. Sheepishly, he smiled and tossed me the phone. I rolled my eyes, and snapped a quick picture of the three of us, Starr giving his customary peace signs. After taking the picture, he quickly snatched my phone from my hands against my protests, and typed something into it.

"My personal phone," he explained. "Send me the photograph, and I'll post it to twitter." He grinned and winked at me, "Emoji's and all."

I laughed and nodded, and entered in my apartments address, and in a flash of green light, the five of us were gone.


	9. images of broken light

We appeared in my living room, right in front of Kate. Well, crap. She stared at us with incredibly wide eyes.

"I thought you were out of the house?" I said, surprised to see her there. She blinked.

"Um, I was, but I wasn't feeling good, so I came home - what in the world just happened, how did you get here?" I sighed. Time to come clean. Before I could even begin to speak, however, John cut me off.

"We're aliens," he said matter-of-factly, "and we're taking Miss, I mean, we're taking  _Gwen_  to our planet." All of us gaped at him.

"Okay," Kate said, "I saw the green light, but there's no way you guys are aliens." John shrugged; he'd tried.

"They're not aliens," I told her, "they're from the past. I time traveled - on accident - and they came with me. Oh," I added as an afterthought, "they're not gay, either. And they're not brothers."

I went through yet  _another_  explanation of my screwing with timelines. She didn't believe me at first, until I told her I'd brought back the Beatles, showing her pictures of them from the 60's. Her skepticism dissipated quickly.

"I... wow. I don't even know what to say to that," She said, running a hand through her blonde hair, "it sounds like the plot to a really bad soap opera, if you ask me." I shrugged in partial agreement.

I told her that the five of us were off to find the old man who had sold me the locket, letting her know that it might be some time before I get back. She had nodded and watched me leave the apartment.

I led the boys to my car, and we drove in silence for a moment before it was broken by Paul.

"So," he began, "me and Ringo. Weird." Ringo nodded in agreement.

"And... scaring." He added. We gave a collective shudder. George tapped my shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"Music?" He gave me a sweet smile. I handed Ringo my phone, and he turned on my music station. I felt jumpy, and couldn't even relax as the lovely words of  _Michelle_  drifted through the speakers.

_"Michelle, ma belle, sont des mots qui vont tres bien ensemble, tres bien ensemble."_

"It's that French song of yours, Macca. What do those words mean?" John asked Paul, who gave a shrug.

"Dunno. Don't speak French."

"These are the words that go together well," I translated.

" _You_  speak French?" John asked me, incredulous. I shrugged.

"Nope. Googled it. Pretty, though."

We didn't speak for the rest of the ride, drinking in the melodies that played.  _Blackbird_  and  _Golden_   _Slumbers_  made appearances, and  _Imagine_  popped up somewhere between  _Photograph_  and  _Wah_ - _Wah_. Finally, after what felt like ages, we reached the shop. I parked the car alongside the sidewalk, and hopped out, followed by the band. I walked inside, feeling nervousness claw at my belly as I did so. No one was at the front counter.

"Hello?" I called out uncertainly. There was movement near the back of the store. I beckoned for the guys to follow me. They did so; John jovially, Paul strolling with his hands in his suit pockets, George confidently, and Ringo warily.

The old man's head popped out from between two displays, and Paul let out a surprised yelp, gripping John's arm, who looked amused at the entire experience. Ringo hid behind George.

"Hello," the old man said cheerfully, waving at the five of us, "I was wondering how long it would take you to come back here." I blinked.

"I, ah, you knew I was going to come back here?" He chuckled, and I heard Ringo let out a quiet whimper from behind me and George. My uneasy feeling didn't lessen.

"Well, in the future,  _your_ future, I do know you fairly well. Well enough, in fact to know you would but the necklace." He grinned. "Seven people wanted that necklace before you, I had to tell them it was on hold."

"This is all fascinating stuff," John drawled, "but what does this have to do with us, and what's your bloody name?" The older man shot him an annoyed look.

"Just call me Parker," he said, "and I needed her to save your lives."

Ringo looked at him suspiciously. He dragged George a couple of feet away, and motioned for me, Paul, and John to join them. Exchanging glances, the other two band members headed over.

"One moment," I said to the newly identified Parker. He nodded. "What?" I whispered to Ringo as we stood in a semi-cirle, like we were children sharing a secret on the playground. He shot a glance to Parker.

"Ah, yeah, I don't quite trust him yet." Ringo stated in a low voice. "Too sketchy. How does he even know you in the future?"

"I don't know. We could ask him, like civilized people, instead of whispering behind his back." Ringo paused, considering this.

"I... hadn't thought of that. Okay. George, go ask." The guitarist gave him a reproachful look.

"Why me?"

"Because you're the youngest of us, not counting Miss Future. Also, you're a git . That's why." John said, clapping a hand in his shoulders and spinning him to face Parker. George looked massively uncomfortable, but walked over to the older man any way.

"Erm, excuse me, Mr. Parker? How is it that you know Gwen, exactly?" He pointed at me, as if needing to clarify who I was. Parker winked at him.

"That's something I can't tell you. But I  _can_  let you know that I won't show up again for quite some time." He smiled, then turned to me. "Stay with them for a while before coming back for good. You'll know why when the time comes."

I opened my mouth, prepared to to ask just  _what_  he meant by that, but he pulled a small pocket watch out of his pant pocket - the watch itself was nearly identical to my locket - and in a flash of oh-so-familiar light, he disappeared from the shop. We stared at the spot where he had been with wide eyes. I could barely comprehend what had just happened.

"So," Paul said after a long pause, "home, then?" I nodded, still too shocked to speak.


	10. like endless rain

The drive was silent, as we all tried to comprehend our newfound information. I parked in my usual spot, and we entered the building and headed to my floor. I ran a hand through my curls. We walked through my door, and I face planted onto the couch.

"Is she okay?" George asked Paul. Paul shrugged.

"Eh, she's fine. Probably gone mental, but fine." I sat up with a yawn and stretched.

"Stop saying I'm crazy, Paul. It's been a really long day, and I'm tired. I'll take you back to your time when I've had a rest." I slumped back down.

George drifted over to the kitchen with John, Ringo went into my room (why, I don't know), and Paul found my laptop and began typing experimentally. After a few minutes of blissful quiet, I heard him make a weird, strangled noise, and I looked up, expecting John to be messing around with him in some way (let's face it, it's John).

"Since when am  _I_ dead?!" Paul cried. Ringo had rushed into the room, a frantic look on his face. I started laughing, realizing that Paul had probably tried looking himself up online, and had come across the stupid 'Paul McCartney is dead and someone took his place' theory. He sent me a hurt look. "Don't you laugh at my death, you heathen."

"You're not dead, you dork, that's a conspiracy theory." I explained. "Do you really think that future Paul isn't really you? Come on." He considered this, nodded, and turned back to the computer.

"Alright," he said slowly. After a moment, he called out, "Er, who's the man in drag next to John?" and I think I almost died laughing. It took me a full three minutes to stop laughing long enough to explain.

I really am a terrible person.

* * *

It was strange, coming back to 1964. I mean, for me, this was becoming the new norm, but after spending a few days in the future, the band seemed a bit disoriented within their own timeline. Honestly, I don't really blame them.

"So," Ringo said, rummaging through one of the suitcases, "why d'you think you're supposed to stay here for a while?" I shrugged, and looked around the room. Paul was having a tearful reunion with his guitar. I cracked a smile and turned back to the drummer.

"I guess to make sure you idiots don't all kill yourselves on accident, maybe?" I joked. Ringo rolled his eyes.

"You're so daft, we have Eppy for that. Besides, the only one who's gonna accidentally drown in the bathtub or burn down the hotel, or summat, is John." I laughed, and John must've overheard us. He stuck his tongue out at me and flipped the bird at Ringo.

Our laughter was interrupted by the hotel room's phone giving a shrill ring, and Paul answered it. He listened for a moment before handing it to John, who gave a squeal, and rushed into the bathroom, the phone cords stretching taught behind him.

"Uh..." I said, used to weird scenes, but still not quite sure what was going on. I looked to Ringo for confirmation.

"Probably Cyn," he shrugged, pulling a pair of drum sticks out of his bag and stroking them lovingly. I nodded. A sharp rap came from the main door, and I tensed. I wasn't sure how I would explain myself to anyone who found me in the Beatles hotel room. I most certainly did not want anyone to get the wrong idea.

With a quick glance in my direction, George opened to door a crack, peering out into the hallway. He gave a startled, "Oh! Wasn't expecting you," and opened the door further to let someone in. I craned my neck to see who it was, and I felt incredibly stupid for not expecting them to show up early.

"Why wouldn't I show up, Harrison?" Brian Epstein said, pushing his way into the room. "I told you that I would come around later today." His voice seemed fairly puzzled. I shot Ringo and Paul a look, my eyes widened.  _What am I supposed to do?_

"Eppy!" Paul cried out, running forward and slinging his arm around the manager's neck, "have I introduced you to our friend?"

"Friend?" Epstein said dubiously. I didn't blame him for thinking anything otherwise, knowing what I did.

"Yes,  _friend_ ," Paul stressed the second word, "she's an American." He shoved him towards me, and I stood from the plush, floral patterned chair I was sitting in, Ringo now perched on the arm. Epstein shot Paul a strange look before facing me and holding out his left hand.

"Brian Epstein," he introduced himself, sounding tired. I shook his hand firmly.

"Gwen Charles. It's nice to meet you." I said with a soft smile. This still felt very surreal to me.

"Boys, where did this nice young lady come from?" He asked the three that were in the main room. If I strained my ears, I could still hear John talking on the phone in the bathroom.

"Paul told you, she came from America." Ringo said, grinning cheekily at the other man, who gave him a hard look.

"I, uh, my parents are friends of George's family," I quickly supplied. George, who caught on to what I was doing, nodded quickly. Epstein seemed to buy it.

"Well, let me know how long she's going to be with us. And don't let the crowd catch sight of her, we've had enough problems when Cynthia tags along." Vaguely, I remembered that poor Cynthia had to disguise herself so as not to be recognized while traveling with her husband. I smiled at Epstein.

"You don't have to worry about that, sir." He looked at me, somewhat pleased.

"D'you here that, boys? She called me sir. You could use some lessons in manners from her, you lot." He raises his voice, calling out, "Especially you, Lennon."

"Sod off!" John yelled through the bathroom door, and o could here him say, in a significantly quieter voice, "Oh, not you, love, that was Eppy..."

Epstein left, and I slumped back into the armchair. That was certainly stressful. George shoved Ringo to the floor and took his spot on the arm of the chair.

"Gear thinking," he said to me, "you're quick with your head." I blushed.

"Ah, thanks. Thanks for going along with it." He shrugged and scratched his ear.

"I couldn't tell Eppy you're a time traveling loon, he wouldn't of beloved me." Paul looked me up and down across the room.

"Your clothes are all wrong," he said suddenly, "George and I will take you out to get some that'll make you blend in more." I blinked.

"Oh, um, thanks?" George looped his arm through mine and hauled me to my feet.

"Off we go!


	11. restless wind

I've never been one for clothes shopping. Mostly because whoever I went with liked to linger after they purchased their clothing, and I just wanted to get out of there.

But this wasn't so bad. Paul kept holding dresses up to himself and modeling for George, who couldn't stop laughing. Also, I'm pretty sure the entire store was watching the three of us goof off. One girl, wearing neon blue eyeshadow, kept giving me dirty looks. Oh, if only she knew.

"Ooh, Paul, you look ravishing," George chuckled as Paul held a burgundy dress up to himself and fluttering those long lashes of his.

"Oh no, Georgie, this one is for  _you_ ," Paul said, thrusting it towards him. George rolled his eyes, but had a smile on his face as he took it. When the elder's back was turned, he handed it off to me.

"It'll look pretty with your eyes," he said with warmth in his voice.

"Thank you," I took it and headed towards a changing room. As I changed in a little stall behind a thick blue curtain, I heard two voices - girls - discussing something. Being the nosy person I am, I decided to have a listen. Besides, if they didn't want anyone to hear them, they would've talked quieter.

"Can you believe the  _nerve_  that girl has, parading around with them like she's important?" I heard one of them say. She had an incredibly thick New York accent. I scowled. Oh. They were talking about me.

"Well, they're probably only doing it for charity," the other girl said. "It's the only explanation for why they'd be taking her out and about."

I felt my blood boil. I'd always been hot headed, so my temper controlled me more than I controlled it, and I was having a real hard time not bursting into the other changing room and showing those girls a thing or two involving my fists. Instead, red-faced and scowling, I exited the room to a waiting George.

"Where's Paul?" I asked him, my voice somewhat bitter. He gave me a curious look.

"Er, he's in the loo. Are you alright?" I violently shook my head.

"Let's just... buy what we got picked out, grab Paul, and leave." I muttered. He frowned, and opened his mouth to say something. Before he could, however, those two little gossiping brats from the other changing stall came out. George raised a single bushy eyebrow as he saw me stiffen with anger.

"Your'e George Harrison, aren't you?" The first girl said in what she must've thought was a flirty tone. I resisted the urge to punch her in the face.

"Um. Yes?" He inched closer to me. "I am. Er, just taking my friend out for a bit off fun, wasn't really expecting..." he trailed off. He was probably thinking that the girls were going to get all their friends together and mob him or something. Which, with the band's experience with fans, wasn't to out there to imagine. Paul walked into the dressing area, shaking his still damp hands. He stopped as he observed the two girls talking to George.

"Ah, hullo girls. Getting acquainted with my friends?" he said loudly, slinging his arms around both of our shoulders. The two girls flashed him blinding smiles.

"Oh, yes." said the second one, the one that had called me a charity case. "We were wondering who your lady-friend is." Paul must've caught on - for all of his immature behavior (though not as much as John, to be sure), no one ever said the man wasn't smart - and he thought something up on the spot.

"She's my cousin from Arizona. Haven't seen her in a while, thought it'd be nice to spend a few days or so together." he squeezed my shoulder.

The two girls were still eyeing me suspiciously. I smiled, trying not to look smug. If I was to be spending a while here, I did not want to make any more enemies than necessary. Finally, the first one smiled - like a shark - and held her hand toward me.

"Betsy Jacobs," she said as I took her cold hand, "and this is my friend Denise Leon."

"Gwen Charles," I replied. "Of course, you know who these two dorks are." I gave the boys affectionate looks. I was as found of them as I was my own brother (except for George, I may or may not be too attracted to him to ever think of him in a brotherly way. Maybe just very close friends?). "And, um, we have to be headed back to the hotel now, so... bye." I gave an awkward wave, and Paul nudged George, who blinked and nodded.

"Oh. Yes. The hotel. Goodbye." He nodded in their direction, and the three of us headed out.

After we got back to the hotel and the three of us were alone in the elevator, Paul declared, "I could smell trouble coming from them a mile away." I gave him a weak smile.

"Thanks for coming to my rescue." I told him. He grinned.

"Do I get a kiss?" George snickered, and I rolled my eyes.

"You're as bad as John."

"I resent that."

* * *

"That's a lot of bags," John observed as we walked into the room."

"Wonderful deduction, you're a real Sherlock Holmes." George said to him. John slung his arm around the younger man's shoulders.

"And you, Georgie, can be my Watson." Paul pouted at him.

"I thought  _I_ was your Watson," he said, mocking hurt.

"You're both my Watsons."

"And me?" Ringo asked him eagerly. A thoughtful expression crossed John's face for a moment.

"You're our dog. Look at that honker of yours, you'd be a great tracker." Ringo appeared deflated. I hummed a bit.

"Don't worry, buddy, girls in the future think your nose is super sexy." That cheered him up.

We mostly just goofed off while we were waiting for Epstein to come get the boys for a live interview taping. He showed up, not bothering to knock this time, as he knew the boys would probably mess with him if they'd known he'd arrived. He just had to deal with John screaming at him about invading privacy instead. I rolled my eyes. What had seemed charming on screen was a little less so in real life.

But it's John Lennon in the flesh, so I'll put up with it, for now.

Ringo decided that I shouldn't be left alone in the hotel room, lest some crazy fangirls decided break in and kill me, so I was going to watch them from the crowd as they talked about their music careers on a soundstage. Epstein, wonderful man that he was, had even set me up with a meeting point and had introduced me to the driver so I wouldn't get left behind on accident.

But, since this is me we're talking about, so of course I got lost.

Actually, it wasn't a bad thing.


	12. dance before me

"Crap, crap, crap..." I muttered to myself as I stretched upwards on my tippy-toes to see where the band had gone. I had left the necklace - and my phone, stupid of me - in the hotel room, to draw less attention to me. Also, if I randomly got searched or mugged or something, I didn't want them taken away from me. Now, the car had left, and I had no idea how to get back by myself. Shoot.

"Are you okay?" A man's voice, lightly accented, asked me.

I whipped around and found myself face to face (since I'm so tiny, more like face to chest) with a tall and lanky young man. His long-ish brown hair framed his face and expressive blue eyes. I stared at him, at a loss for what words, before shaking my head to clear it.

"Um. Yeah, I - I'm a bit stressed out. Some... friends of mine were giving me a ride back to our hotel, and I don't have a way to contact them, and I just don't know what I'm doing." I gave a bitter laugh. "Oh, my first day here, and I've already screwed up." The man raised a single thick eyebrow.

"You're new in town? Do you maybe know what your hotel is called?" I shook my head.

"No," I said in dismay, "all I know is that it is yellow-ish and has cherubs all over it." His face brightened and he grinned.

"I know where that is," he said happily. "Let me walk you there."

" _Thank you_ , you're a life saver." As we walked, I casually asked, "So where are you from?"

"Auckland," he replied, "I moved year about three years ago. And you?"

"Arizona. My friends and I are traveling kinda everywhere, right now. It's been fun." I said. Hey, it's not like I lied. "My name's Gwen Charles, by the way."

"Adam Parker."

We were at the hotel now. I paused near the door.

"Do you want to come up with me?" I asked him. "I'm sure my friends would want to thank you for helping me find my way."

He shrugged. "Sure." He squinted at the building. "Did you know the Beatles are staying here?" I hid a smile. Oh yeah, I know.

"Mm, are they? It'd be cool if we ran into them, wouldn't it?" He laughed.

"More than."

I led him through the lobby to the elevator, which let us off after several jolting stops. We were only two floors below the top. I showed him to the door, and I knocked loudly.

"Who is it?" John called out in a shrill, girly voice. I rolled my eyes. Would the antics ever end?

"It's Gwen!" I sing-singed back, and the door opened.

Adam's mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide when he saw John standing there, a toothbrush in his mouth.

"Well, get yourselves in here before Eppy's head blows up. He's been looking everywhere for you, Miss Future." He turned to my blue-eyed companion. "And who in the blazes are you?"

Adam was completely speechless (could you blame him?), so I answered for him.

"This is Adam, he helped me get back." I turned to Adam. "Do you have anywhere you need to be?" He shook his head. "Great! Come hang out with us!"

"I, uh, okay." He entered the room, his gaze never leaving John. Leaning down to me, he whispered, " _You never told me your friends were the Beatles!_ " I shrugged.

"You didn't ask."

* * *

Adam gave me the number of his home phone, and we stayed in touch throughout the months the band and I traveled. We spent a while in New York, where he and I met up. I guess you could call it a date.

I decided to stay with him in New York, making the boys promise to keep in touch with me and not do anything stupid. Ringo knew my cell number by heart (and the phone was  _still_ working, five bars, and a hundred percent battery?!). Adam, however, knew nothing of me being from the future.

Something I should really tell him, considering we've now known one another for six months and have dated for four. George kept saying that it was mean to not tell him the truth. John said it was mean for me to be alive. He needs to work on his burns, that one.

Finally, one beautiful February morning in 1965, I told him.

"Adam, I'm not from here." He looked at me from his spot on the sofa, his eyes showing amusement.

"You're from Arizona, darling, I know." he said with a smile. I shook my head and found myself fingering my necklace nervously.

My necklace!

"I am a time tracker!" I blurted out, and he froze, looking at me as if I'd gone crazy. I wasted no time. Within the inside of my locket, I entered on today's time and date, and in location I put:  _wherever Ringo Starr currently is._  I hoped he wouldn't be baked again.

We appeared in a lovely hotel suite, and found ourselves in front of a napping, big-nosed, mop head. Adam made a noise in the back of his throat.

"Believe me now?" I asked, a bit smugly. He nodded, looking a bit shell-shocked. Oh. Now I felt bad. Well, not too bad.

I poked Ringo awake. He seemed pleased enough to see me, and was happy to know that I had spilled my guts to my boyfriend.

"Oh, and you're getting married in a few days, aren't you?" Ringo beamed.

"Yes! How did you- wait, future. Nothing can surprise you, eh?"

"Nothing in this timeline. You're going to live September thirteenth." I said casually. "Where're the other guys?" He shrugged.

"Dunno. I was sleeping. Hey, how're you taking this, Adam?" Adam blinked.

"Still... processing." My boyfriend said with a tight smile. There was a stretch of silence before I broke it.

"I need to go back."


	13. thoughts meander

"What, now?" Ringo asked, digging in his ear with his little finger. I nodded.

"It's time. Don't worry, I'll see you in fifty years." I joked. "Besides, remember what Parker said? I would know when the time comes for me to leave, or something like that?" Ringo nodded. "It's time."

"I'm coming with you then," Adam said firmly, his gaze locked on me. "I love you, Gwen, and I'm staying with you no matter what." My throat tightened, and I leaned into him.

"I love you too," I admitted, "But you have a life here, family,"

He shook his head, and launched into an explanation of his estrangement from his family - the reason he had moved to New York from New Zealand - and it was then that I made my disicion to bring him back to 2015 with me. Probably going to screw with the timeline again, but hopefully not to an extreme.

"You're going to miss the wedding," Ringo said a little glumly after things had all been decided. I rolled my eyes and kissed him on the cheek.

"I might pop in. You never know." This cheered him immensely.

Ringo told us where the other three were currently, out and about while they were able. John had actually gone back home to see Cynthia and Julian. Paul was probably visiting with his father and brother, and he didn't quite know where George might be. Probably visiting family as well, though.

I used my necklace to transport Adam and I to their locations to bid them farewell, before sending us back to our apartment so that the two of us could gather up things that we wanted to take with us. As I was throwing my things into a small duffle, Adam tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to face him, and my heart leapt into my throat. He was kneeling in front of me, a sheepish smile on his handsome face (he was getting a little scruffy, I noticed absently) and he was holding out a ring.

"Oh, Adam," I breathed, my eyes not leaving the engagement ring he held out. It was silver with a tiny green gem sparkling in the center of the band. Simple, yet elegant.

"If we're going to start a new life together in the future, I want us to really be together. I want to marry you." He said simply. I nodded slowly, and he stood, embracing me.

"Y'know, the boy's are going to be surprised when we show up fifty years into the future engaged," I said to him with a sly smile. He grinned at me.

"What are they like, as old men?"

"Wrinkly."

* * *

"The future is weird," Adam declared, squinting against the glare of the sun through my apartment's windows. I had sent us to only a week after I had left to the past. Strange, because I was in the past for six months. I shrugged.

"Wait 'til you hear today's music, it's pretty weird in itself."

"Gwen!" The two of us turned, and I saw Kate standing in the doorway of the apartment, a bag of groceries resting on her hip. She set it down on the kitchen counter, and crossed her arms over her chest in an accusing manner. "I thought you'd be gone only a day, and it's been a week. And who's this?" I motioned towards my boyfrie-fiancé. He's my fiancé.

"This is Adam. We're getting married. Also, sorry about being gone so long, but I had something I needed to do."

While I had been in the past, I had found wedding gifts for  _all_  the Beatle weddings (even John and Yoko's, in case they actually did end up married in this new, modified time line. I hoped they didn't.). I had instructed the post office that I had used to send them only on the dates of the weddings. I hoped that would make up for my missing them.

Kate rolled her eyes, but she smiled and gave me a warm hug.

"I've missed you, y'know." I patted the blonde girl on the back, a little unused to this form of affection from her. Kate was wonderful, but she wasn't really touchy-feely.

After the hug ended, she walked over to Adam and examined him from all angles. He looked a bit scared of her, which was kind of funny. He make look tall and intimidating, but he's actually just a big softie. Also, he's terrified of spiders. My kind of man.

"He's acceptable," Kate announced finally. "But really, it's only been a week and you're already getting married? I hate to quote Frozen, but-"

"For you, it's been a week. But for me it's been six months," I interrupted her. I didn't want to hear the Frozen speech. "And..." I looked over at him and smiled. "The old guy - remember, the one that sold me the locket? - said I would know when it was time to come back. I knew not too long after we started dating that the reason I was supposed to stay back there was to meet him." I blushed slightly. I was incredibly sappy, apparently.

Kate looked as though she were about to say something else, but we were interrupted by a knock on the door. My blonde roommate looked at it in confusion. We looked at one another, and I shrugged, going to open it.

"Guys!" I said in shock upon seeing who was in the hall outside the door. There stood four old rockstars, grinning like madmen.


	14. jai guru deva, om

I invited the four of them in, and Adam couldn't stop staring at them. His expression was pretty funny. John patted my head like I was a little lap dog as he passed me, and Ringo bopped me on the nose. I couldn't stop grinning.

"I can't believe you're actually here!"

Adam kept looking at them.

"You guys got  _old_ ," he commented, and John grinned.

"That's what happens when you're alive," he said.

"I'm just so glad that it worked," I confessed to them. "Hey, John, did you end up with Yoko, or..."

He shook his head.

"I was with her for a while, but I kept getting this nagging feeling that made me remember you."

"She stole my biscuits," George sulked a little bit.

"Georgie, that was almost fifty years ago," Paul reminded him, "I would think that you'd get over that by now."

I laughed. This was amazing, I had actually  _changed_  history.

The next couple of years that followed were pretty much the best of my life. I visited my parents (who had no idea I was ever gone, mostly because they live five hours away), and introduced them to my fiancé. Needles to say, they weren't pleased that I was marrying a man that they'd never heard of and that I'd only met (for them, anyway), a few days ago. But once you get four of the greatest music legends of all time to vouch for someone, they crumbled pretty quick.

I'm pretty sure my mom wanted to kiss Paul McCartney, but that's another story for another day.

The best was the wedding. It was a simple affair, just some of my family and close friends. The guys came, too, and of course John decided he needed to say a speech.

"Gwen is one of the strangest girls I've ever had the pleasure to have known,"  _oh my sweet lord is he waggling his eyebrows?_  "And I've known quite a lot in my day. However, she helped me and my mates out when we was in a bit of a tight spot, so she's pretty gear. Adam," he directed his gaze to my now-husband, "if you ever break this bird's heart, I'll have to take some drastic measures."

He sat, and an awkward applause was given. My friends and relatives had absolutely no idea how to react to John freaking Lennon.

All in all, even though it was frightening, and I had no idea what I was doing most of the time, I'm glad I chose to change things. If I hadn't, I wouldn't be married to the most wonderful dork I know, nor would I have the chance to meet my music idols. I even was able to do something that I'd secretly wanted to do ever since I was sixteen years old.

I introduced Ringo Starr to the wonderful world of Tumblr.


End file.
